Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks …
Bathing suit season is not around the corner, it’s here. It’s happening.
Time to get real.
I’ve made inquiries to a knee specialist.
I’ve quit drinking.
I’ve been eating healthier.
Get fit, or get the fuck out.
Neon shoes won’t do.
When I was younger, fashion was about convincing my Mom to buy me the coolest stuff I could find, and then spending a lot of time growing the balls to wear those things.
I learned that if you buy something you aren’t sure you can pull off, you have to wear it immediately, before the luster wears off, because you were more likely to later wear something you’ve worn before.
And after I had a baby and lived in the country, and was poor, my style was just whatever was comfortable and practical.
And now I’m in another phase where I want to be fabulous. And fabulous is this weird mix of classic and trendy and personal flavor.
And it’s also about dressing appropriately for every occasion.
And it’s hard to cultivate.
Your clothes can’t be too cheap, or too practical, too comfortable, or god forbid, for me personally, too uncomfortable. You can’t just buy shoes with nowhere to wear them, no dresses to match them, no occasion fitting. You can’t go willy nilly anymore, you are not as young as you used to be.
There is this greater wardrobe you are building toward and you are never quite there because your style keeps evolving, but you are trying. Every piece has to fit somehow, or its not worth the purchase.
This has been a tale of personal clothing experience, by Ashley.
places in chicago - 2012
- swig (drink)
- bar bar black sheep (drink and dinner)
- piece (dinner)
- rodan (drink)
- fancesca’s forno (brunch)
- intelligentsia (coffee/tea)
- blackbird (dinner)
- green mill lounge (drink)
- the counter (burger bar)
- rando bar in lincoln park (drink, specifically red headed sluts)
- john hancock observatory bar (drink)
- the drake (drink)
- danny’s (drink)
- lemming’s (drink)
- the violet hour (drink)
- hot doug’s (lunch)
i’m a big fan of this.
My stepdad used to say “absence makes the heart grow fungus.” I think I was in college before I learned that is not the real phrase.
Tonight, while in the middle of a Zumba class, my mind was racing.
RACING, I say!
With thoughts of how this is the largest Ashley I’ve ever seen reflected back to me in a mirror, with how I’m glad I ate healthy today and how I have to continue, with thoughts of pride for working out, of shame for the months that have past and how out of shape I am, and mostly, with the fact that I flared up my knee injury within the first 5 minutes of class, and, as much as I’ve been putting it off, I’m going to have to go to the doctor for it.
And after class I was wondering why, out of everyone I know, I have to be the person most obsessed with her body. Why me?
Everyone else seems so comfortable and at peace with how they look. Why do I care so much?
And even more, how can I be so insecure when I’m also so confident that I look great?
It doesn’t compute.
But then, an aha moment. I was a dancer from age 4 to college. I’m going to focus on college here, but let’s not forget the THIRTEEN YEARS previous to that. Let’s keep those in mind.
I majored in my body.
I got a degree in my body.
We were taught every day that our body was our instrument. Our only tool. The most precious thing on earth, to be regarded, and guarded, and respected, and loved. We were taught how to keep it healthy. Flexible. Strong. We were taught how to prevent and care for injuries. Every day of my life was about the performance of my body.
It’s no wonder.
While my friends were studying business and political science, I was studying anatomy.
And not only that, but there was also competition.
Whose body was best for the job. The thinnest. The strongest. The most graceful.
I mean, as much as I think my University years are behind me, they are so important in the formation of a person. Especially one who was in and out by 20.
These were certainly my formative years.
And I’m not using my knowledge.
I’m like a law school grad who works at McDonalds.
Maybe that was extreme. But you see what I’m saying? It’s all I really know about. My formal education was in bodies, mine in particular.
I don’t know, I just had this thought and it felt like a piece was falling in place and I felt better about myself.
Bachelor of Science, in Dance. Right here.